By: Piano Kaewchaiyo (7th)
It was the summer of 1987 in New York. It was just Magnolia’s birthday, and she had received an Armstrong silver flute from her mother. Her previous music lessons had been horrible. She was unable to blow a single note. Every note came out unclear, ragged-sounding or simply just silent. Now, she did what all quitters did. Quit.
She picked up her shimmery, smooth black music case ready to put it away-- for good, before a tall, skinny man in a mustard yellow coat intervened with her. Not being able to recognize the man, she stood there. She didn’t know what to do, so she just stopped. Silent.
“What do you think you're doing?” The man spoke-- his accent crisp and clear. He rubbed his long white beard, stroking it as he examined the girl.
She tightened her grip on the handle of the flute case, saying, “Putting it away. For good.”
“Why are you quitting?” He said, watching her put her instrument away. He frowned.
“Because I’m not good,” She sighed, “I’ve been playing for a while now. I still haven’t gotten any better from when I started playing. It’ll be better if I just quit.”
The man leaned against the storage lockers, shaking his head. “Just because you’re not talented enough, ain’t mean you gotta quit.”
“It’s worthless,” Magnolia flailed her arms by her side, whining. She sat back down on the bench beside the piano and the lockers.
“How do you know if something is worthless if you never try?” He sat down on the piano chair, inhaling a deep breath. With no hesitation, he began to play something on the piano. He first clicked the keys, imitating a toddler. After a long five seconds, the notes made no sense. It sounded like notes that were out of tune were smashing along the piano keys.
She creased her eyebrows. She cupped her ears as she yelped, “What are you doing? That sounds horrible!”
“Right. It does, doesn’t it?” He shouted over the loud out-of-tune noise. He came to a stop. Magnolia was about to leave the room, before, not long after, the man began to play a classic, familiar tune. She turned around, observing his performance.
He was playing “Take On Me,” by A-ha. The notes danced perfectly as he played, getting catchier and catchier as the man played on. It was as if a disco was playing all throughout the music room. She closed her eyes, humming along to the beat. Finally, he ended with a light, delicate note.
“I thought you were bad at piano,” She muttered quietly.
“You thought I was,”
“What’s the point of showing off?”
He smiled, placing himself down on the chair next to her. He slowly said, “What I was doing was just what you did. You thought you were terrible at flute, yet you didn’t try. In order to play such a complicated piece of music like the one I played, you need to have patience. Take my word for it. I bet you will excel once you understand this.”
“I already did that,” Magnolia pressed. She stared at the ground.
“Ah, but did you persevere?” The man questioned.
And just like that, the man walked away. No goodbyes. No waves. So, she took his word for it. She smiled as he trailed off.
Breathing steadily, she took her flute and began to try again.